


Emptiness

by opalmatrix



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Character Study, Community: Saiyuki_time, Gen, Loneliness, no dialog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The voice in Sanzo's head isn't the only thing that's needful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> written for **[saiyuki_time](http://community.livejournal.com/saiyuki_time/)**, Challenge #56, No Dialog; time allowed: 40 minutes; time taken: 45 minutes. Late, late, late. (Written June 2009)

It was a sunny but chilly day, and Sanzo was climbing a mountain.

He smiled grimly as he recalled what the locals had told him when he headed up the trail. According to them, a monster lived at the top, some sort of dreadful creature banished from heaven. A monster that had lived 500 years. It would be funny, if he was in the mood to be amused.

The darkness of soul that had engulfed after his Master's death, deepening as he was forced to take more and more lives in defending his own, had faded. He knew how much he owed the late Jikaku for introducing smoking as a meditation for purging himself of the burden of so many deaths, despite the fact that it meant that he was, ever so slowly, poisoning himself with the tobacco. But the absence of depression did not equal joy, or even contentment. As the days went by, he had become aware of an empty place within him. And the annoying voice that had started calling in his mind wasn't helping in the least.

How many mountains had he climbed in the last several years? He had never bothered to count. It was the fact the he had managed to climb them, and come down again, that was important. Plant the foot, push off with the leg ... the movements were their own sort of meditation. Maybe Koumyou and Shuuhei had never taught him to climb mountains, but the martial arts that he'd learned from them had made him limber and agile, and the banishment of his nightmares had allowed him to sleep once again, so that his strength was returning. When he stopped for a break, about halfway to his goal, he was surprised to find himself hungry.

His provisions were modest: a bean-jam bun and a tangerine that the villagers below had insisted he take, and a flask of water. He was still mostly empty when he'd finished them. To his surprise, the sensation in his body woke an echo from his thoughts earlier. It seemed unlikely that he was hungering for human company, but the feeling could not be ignored. He'd been thinking about his teachers, after all. Perhaps that was the emptiness within him: the knowledge that in all likelihood, he had to depend on himself entirely now. He was lucky to have encountered Jikaku: chances were, he'd never have a master again.

He was Genjyo Sanzo, the Thirty-First of China, the youngest living legitimate Sanzo. There was no one remotely like him in all the world.

The nagging, whining voice in his head was weirdly in harmony with his musings now. And he did not like that at all, especially as it had been growing more distinct as he climbed.

He stood abruptly, stoppering the water flash impatiently and striding on up the path. The high, thin clouds drifted above him, and the wind whistled in his ears, but it was unable to drown out the calls that only he could hear. Far away, over the rocky shoulder of a mountain slope, crows were drifting and tumbling, their cries a muted creaking in the distance.

Suddenly the path leveled out. Before him was a face of rock, carved eccentrically into pillars with a dark space behind them. Paper charms twitched and whispered in the sharp breeze.

Sanzo stopped, feeling the moment sweep over him. The emptiness within him sighed, like a weary traveler who sees a lamplit window. And then the voice in his head rose to a clamor that drew him forward again.

 


End file.
